The Witch of the Westmorland
by Lyra Dogstar
Summary: There's none can harm the knight who's lain with the Witch of the Westmorland. After OotP, about Sirius, Remus, and a legend. With a happy ending, I promise.


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Pale was the wounded knight, that bore the rowan shield   
Loud and cruel were the raven's cries that feasted on the field   
Saying "Beck water cold and clear will never clean your wound

Dying can be harder on those close to you than it can be to yourself. Sirius didn't want to die in his sleep at a ripe old age. How many times had he said he wanted to die with honour, fighting Voldemort and his followers? Still, as I watched him fall through the veil in the department of mysteries, it didn't seem fair that he should have to die at the age of thirty-six, at the hand of his own kin.

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There's none but the witch of the Westmoreland can make thee hale and soond" 

A long time ago, Sirius told me he was going to become invincible.

***Flashback***

Sirius lay on his back on a sofa. He had only just turned seventeen, and he looked his part. He was no longer the round-faced boy that may as well be a Slytherin, the way he acted. He had reached a full height of six feet, his arms, legs and torso still very thin. No matter, he was still the spectacle of Gryffindor.

"You know what, Remus?"

"What?"

"There's this legend, of this witch, and if a man lays with her, nobody can hurt him," he sat up to look at me, his eyes glittering in the firelight.

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So turn, turn your stallion's head 'til his red mane flies in the wind   
And the rider of the moon goes by and the bright star falls behind 

"I've heard of it. There's a song that the knights used to sing about it. What about it?" I said, knowing that look in his eyes.

"Well, something has to spark a story. A centaur, maybe, with incredible powers," he said. "if I found her……………"

"Sirius," I said, looking down my nose. "Even _if_ she does exist, do you really expect a centaur to help _us_?"

"Why not?"

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And clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by   
below the hills were the brightest stars when he heard the owlet cry

I sighed, clearly not able to deter him and this strange new ambition.

"When I get out of school," he said. "I'm going to find her."

"How?" I asked. I tried to sound interested, but more likely I sounded highly skeptical.

"In the story, they say how. You turn till your hair flies in the wind, so that would most likely be west, and you go west, once the sun sets……………"

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Saying "Why do you ride this way, and wherefore came you here?"   
"I seek the Witch of the Westmorland that dwells by the winding mere"

"Sirius, think about it. The bright star that they mention is the sun. They want you to wait till the wind is blowing from the east, because the sun sets in the west," I said. "Trust me, mate. This isn't going to work."

***End Flashback***

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And it's weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way   
Til throught the cleft in the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay

He disappeared for a year after we left school. It started to worry us. I never told James or Peter about our conversation. There were some things that Sirius and I never told anybody; dreams, worries, things best kept secret.

It was never that I didn't trust either of them, because I did. I suppose it's one of those stupid things, but I felt a strange affinity with Sirius that I didn't with anybody else, although we were so different. And call me silly, but I didn't think Prong _or_ Wormtail would understand this kind of ambition.

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He said "Lie down, by brindled hound and rest ye, my good grey hawk  
And thee, my steed may graze thy fill for I must dismount and walk

We had a funeral for Sirius. Nobody really cared anymore what people thought of it. It was the night before the full moon. We lay an empty coffin in a grave.

The graveyard was a short distance from where I grew up in Wales. On two sides of the grave were hedges, and behind those hedges was a dirt road. Moonlight glinted off the jet-black coffin and the silver handles.

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But come when you hear my horn and answer swift the call   
For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn ye will serve me best of all"

Next to me stood Harry, and on my other side stood Molly. I thought of her boggart, and thought how horrible it is for such a boggart to come true. And as I thought of the boggart, I thought of walking up to Lily and James' house, and seeing James and Lily dead.

I was the last Marauder.

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And it's down to the water's brim he's born the rowan shield   
And the goldenrod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield

It was because of these depressing thoughts that, after everbody else had left, it was Molly who stood with _me_, comforting _me_ as tears flowed down _my_ cheeks.

"None can harm the knight who's lain with the Witch of the Westmorland," I whispered.

"What?" she asked.

"He used to reflect so much on that when we were in school. He wanted to find her, have her help him." There, I told somebody.

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And wet she rose from the lake, and fast and fleet went she   
One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet black mare's body

I wanted to go into the forbidden forest. I wanted to find a centaur, and ask if the Witch of the Westmorland was really just a faery tale. Weather people had blown her powers way out of proportion when they saw a centaur.

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And loud, long and shrill he blew til his steed was by his side   
High overhead the grey hawk flew and swiftly did he ride 

But I didn't go. I never asked, and I so wanted to. After that, I spent my time in Grimmauld Place. I had to stay there in case somebody came with a message. Somebody had to do it, may as well be me. Buckbeak was set free somewhere in the north of Scotland, much to my dismay (him being my only company)

More than once I had to remind myself not to wallow in self-pity.

I had never asked for pity from _anybody_. In fact, I made it quite clear that I despised the word. I crossed it out of my dictionaries.

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Saying "Course well, my brindled hound, and fetch me the jet black mare   
Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk, and bring me the maiden fair"

It was one of these nights, that looking out of the window that I saw a small dot outside the window. At first I thought that it was just an owl, flying across the moon. When it appeared bigger, I thought 'Oh good, somebody's coming to keep me company.'

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She said "Pray, sheathe thy silvery sword. Lay down thy rowan shield   
For I see by the briny blood that flows you've been wounded in the field"

But it wasn't somebody on a broomstick, either. It was bigger than that. A dragon, perhaps? They _must_ fly over London _sometimes_, right?

And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound round with a silver chain  
And she's kissed his pale lips once and twice and three times round again 

Somebody landed softly in the front yard. Somebody was riding a _hippogriff_. A certain, free hippogriff.

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And she's bound his wounds with the goldenrod, full fast in her arms he lay  
And he has risen hale and sound with the sun high in the day

A man with long black hair led the hippogriff up to our door and rang the doorbell. I ran so fast, I tumbled on the stairs twice. Which, by the way, is extremely unlike me.

I opened the door, and Sirius smiled at me, looking younger and much more handsome than he had when I last saw him.

He just smiled, and said, "Hey Remus."

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She said "Ride with your brindled hound at heel, and your good grey hawk in hand 

I must have fainted dead out, because next thing I knew, I was laying on a green couch in the kitchen.

I looked up at him, and said, "How the hell are you still alive? Bellatrix killed you."

He smiled, and said,

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There's none can harm the knight who's lain with the Witch of the Westmorland."

"Buckbeak found me. I turned till I faced the wind, and rode till the rider of the moon passed by, and the bright star fell behind."

@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@

****

I didn't want to put this at the beginning of the story, cause I didn't know weather it would fit.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. The Witch of the Westmorland belongs to whoever came up with it………… 


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